The being tore a branch from a tree and dropped it on the smoldering fire. She quickly shifted back to flame and settled down.
"No! No, I . . . He isn't like you! He . . . has spent too much time among us. He doesn't even believe he is Chosen. He doesn't believe that the Chosen exist! He has become . . . tainted, disfigured by our way of thinking," she attempted, hoping that appearing to share her distasteful view might convince her.
"I am aware of what he has told you. I have been watching him since he left the cave. He is lying to you, no doubt in attempts to rid himself of you," she said.
Myranda looked desperately about. This could not be happening. These were the warriors who were intended to save this world. Now one refused to believe his place, and the other refused to help him.
"However . . ." came the voice from the fire. "The mere fact that he has been willing to suffer your presence for so long, let alone his consideration and even protection of you, betrays a fundamental . . . alteration of his character that will need to be reversed if he is to rise adequately to his true purpose."
Slowly she removed herself from the fire and shifted back to the human form. As she did, the last, lingering flames were drawn into her, leaving the fire fully extinguished. The woman walked with purpose in the direction of the others. Myranda remained behind long enough to disguise where the fire had been. Myn trotted quickly back to aid her and urge her along.
"Myn, this is going to be more difficult than I'd imagined," she said as she turned to follow.
When she reached the others, Desmeres was walking a few steps behind. The woman was beside Lain. All were silent. When he noticed Myranda, Desmeres took a few steps further back to join her.
"Well. Quite a pair, aren't they?" he said quietly. "So far, all she has done is order me to take a more fitting position. I appreciate people who make an accurate first impression quickly. It saves time."
"Where are we going?" Myranda asked.
"There is another safe house. Still a fair distance away. Of course, this one is much smaller. Barely built to house Lain and I. With you, the dragon, and our new ray of sunshine, things are going to be cozy," he remarked.
"What do we do next?" she asked.
"First we find the safe house. Once inside, we can start making plans," he said. "To that end, I've a few issues that you may be able to help me with."
"I imagined you might," she replied.
"You mentioned that Epidime used a halberd like the one the woman had. That was Arden who used the Halberd, not Epidime," Desmeres observed.
"Arden is Epidime," Myranda said.
"No . . . How could Arden be Epidime? Do you know this for certain?" Desmeres asked doubtfully.
"If that brute who tried to kill me at the mines was Arden, then I am convinced he is Epidime. I spent the last two weeks struggling to keep him out of my mind," she said.
"Keep him out of your mind . . . so he was attempting to read your mind?" Desmeres said, suddenly a good deal more interested.
"Read is too gentle a word. He was forcing his way in. He was trying to take it for his own," she shivered.
"Are you sure Arden was the one doing it? Is it possible that he was just an enforcer and the attempts were coming from elsewhere?" Desmeres asked.
"The attempts were doubly intense when he made contact. It was him," she said.
"Mind reading. It must have been Epidime. Arden is Epidime. He had us fooled. He had everyone fooled," Desmeres said quietly to himself. "I am not accustomed to being caught off-guard with information such as this. Information is the biggest part of my role in the partnership. This changes things."
"How so?" she asked.
"Well, for one, the contact I have in Arden's organization has just become infinitely more valuable. And . . . other things," he said.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing that might interest you," he said.
"Why don't you want to tell me?" she asked, having heard too many such responses to take them at face value.
"Not to offend you, Myranda, but it seems fairly clear to me that we are not likely to receive the rest of the price on your head. Any attempts to secure it from this point forward would be folly. Not that I am disappointed. The half that they have given us more than triples the amount we've earned on our three best years combined. However, since you aren't terribly likely to join our cause, it does mean our bizarre little partnership is nearing its end. Soon we will part ways. With that in mind, you already know more about us than anyone alive today. If we tell you much more, you may as well go into business for yourself," he explained.
"I don't understand. When you were planning to hand me over, alive, to the very same people trying to hunt you down, you were willing to answer any question I had. Now that you have given up on turning me over, you begin keeping secrets?" she said. "Why? What was different then?"
"You don't want to know," he said, the earnestness in his voice a warning.
"You know me better than that. Tell me," she said.
Desmeres heaved a heavy sigh.
"It will strain our relationship. I would be lying if I said that I hadn't become fond of you in the time we've been working together. I would much prefer to leave on pleasant terms," he said.
"Desmeres, you and Lain have been trying to claim a ransom on my head for the better part of a year, and despite that fact, you remain my two closest allies in all of this," Myranda pointed out.
"Yes, twists of fate and quirks of incident have certainly cast us in the role of protectors more frequently than captors," he agreed.
"If I could come to trust you despite the fact that I know you had only the worst intentions in mind, what could you possibly say to 'strain our relationship'?" she asked.
"You would be surprised," he said.
"Only if you tell me," she said, growing impatient.
"Lain?" he said, raising his voice slightly.
"Tell her," came his response.
Desmeres sighed again.
"The plan was to accept full payment and exchange you and the sword at once. Lain would then follow the courier to where you were taken and poison you," he explained. His tone was not apologetic, merely anticipatory for the reaction he knew would follow.
Myranda stopped walking. She was silent for a time. Lain and the other Chosen continued on. Desmeres stopped a few steps later. He turned to her.
"I warned you," he said.
"That . . . how could you even . . . ?" She attempted.
"Is it really so much worse than merely handing you over? We were doing so with the full expectation that you would not last long once we turned you in. The poison would have been a quick death, far better than anything that they would have had in store," he offered.
"Are you still planning to kill me?" she asked.
"Against all good judgment, the decision has been made to let you live your life to its natural end," he said.
"Well, I am glad that--" she began.
The ring of a sword being pulled from its sheath cut her remark short. Lain held the sword to the neck of the other Chosen.
"If you try that again, I will do what it takes to kill you," Lain hissed.
"What the female said is true. You have been tainted. You are not one of these things. It is only proper that you and I join our minds rather than lower ourselves to their level with language. To threaten my life betrays so much of what they have done to you. It shows that these mindless, primal savages have managed to infect you with their temperament, and the suggestion that I could even be killed reveals the ignorance and weakness of mind you must have had to adopt to live among them. That ends here. If you do not leave these beasts behind and join me in our destiny, then I will cure your attachment to them in the simplest way possible," she said.
"That may well be the most subtle death threat I have yet received," Desmeres remarked.
Lain's ears twitched.
"We do not have time for this," He said. "We have been found."
Chapter 14
Before long, the sounds that Lain's sensitive ears had picked up found their way to the ears of the others: hooves crunching on snow. There were at least a dozen men on horseback. They seemed to be coming from all directions at once. Myranda held her staff at the ready, preparing her mind for the task at hand. In this battle, at least, she would not be helpless. Desmeres unsheathed his pair of daggers. Myn unfurled her wings, drove her claws into the icy ground, and bared her teeth. Only the newest member of the group seemed unconcerned.
After a few moments, the first of the attackers became visible through the trees to the east. Even at this distance, he was clearly a nearman. The crude blank visor covered an inhuman face Myranda had yet to see.
With a few silent steps, Lain seemed to vanish among the trees. Myranda locked her eyes on the soldier. A blur of motion swept past him, a strike from Lain nearly too swift to be seen, knocking him from his horse. A pair of other mounted soldiers appeared from behind and drew Myranda's attention. After focusing briefly on the ground beneath her, Myranda thrust the tip of the staff earthward. A minor wave of motion shook the ground. It was enough to terrify the horses, who swiftly threw their riders. Thinking quickly, Myranda intensified the spell around the base of the trees nearest to the fallen nearmen. An avalanche of snow was shaken from the branches, burying the enemies.
Myranda turned to find that three more were rapidly approaching from the north, and four from the south.
Desmeres stepped to Myranda's back. Daggers were not well-suited to battling those on horseback. The other Chosen One merely stood, her arms crossed, with a look akin to boredom on her face. The riders began to circle around them. They all bore spears. Two bore nets as well. The nearest of them hurled his in an attempt to ensnare Myranda. She managed a brief burst of wind that blew the net over its caster, tangling horse and rider alike and sending them tumbling to the ground. Myn dove upon the helpless soldier and brought him swiftly to an end.
A faint flash of light and scatter of dust as the armor caved in confirmed that these were no humans they fought. A spear was hurled at Myranda. She dove to avoid it. One of the other soldiers raised his weapon to strike her before she could rise. Myn launched herself at the rider, clamping onto the spear-wielding hand and shaking it violently as she worked her wings to pull him backward. He struggled against the dragon, at one point pulling free a handful of scales in his attempts at pulling her off.
A second soldier attempted to attack before Myranda could get to her feet. A gleam of steel later and one of Desmeres's expertly crafted daggers was protruding from the nearman's neck. The armor was empty by the time it reached the ground. Desmeres rushed to the unoccupied armor, retrieving his dagger and the discarded spear. Myn finally managed to pull her target from his horse and finished him with a blast of flame.
Four soldiers remained. Desmeres and Myranda turned to them.
The nearmen focused on the opponents in front of them, neglecting the one who was behind. Before their mistake was realized, Lain had taken two of them. The remaining soldiers turned to face the warrior, and a half-dozen more arrived before Myranda or Desmeres could take advantage of the distraction. Myn sprayed flame to keep the soldiers at bay, but they were quickly growing more bold. At the edge of the battlefield, completely ignored by the soldiers, was the other Chosen One. She stood, arms crossed, as though irritated by the distraction.
"Help us!" Myranda pleaded.
"I do not see why you fight at all. You should cease this at once," the being said.
Bizarrely, her words were heeded, but not by those she had intended. The circling soldiers halted and pulled back. Seemingly unimpressed by the event, the woman continued.
"We are Chosen. You are mortal. When you are faced with the trials that we must overcome, death is the only possible result. If you survive this battle or any other, it will be by our discretion, and every motion that we spend to preserve your lives distracts us from our true goal. The most useful thing that you could do would be to simply bring yourself to an end more swiftly and spare us further delay. Turn your weapons on yourselves," she declared.
The nearmen obeyed. Swords were drawn and plunged into the chests of their wielders. In moments, the entirety of the attacking party was reduced to dusty piles of armor. Myranda stood in open-mouthed wonder at the act. Desmeres scratched his head for a moment before shrugging, collecting the trio of liberated scales, handing them to Myranda, and gathering the reins of three of the now-riderless horses. Myn was content to simply stand down without an explanation, and Lain seemed more interested in concealing the armor beneath the snow than asking questions.
"What happened? What did you do to them?" Myranda asked, confusion swirling in her head as she absentmindedly stowed the scales in her bag.
As expected, the newest member of their group had no intention of answering her. Desmeres led a horse over to Myranda. Gritting her teeth and shaking her head, she mounted the steed with her question unanswered. He offered the reins of a second horse to the woman. She extended a hand and, rather than clutching the reins, took hold of a single hair from the mane and plucked it free.
A moment later the solid form of the woman wafted away, replaced instead by an intensely swirling mass of pure wind that held, briefly, its former shape. Quickly, the swirling form altered posture, assuming the four-legged stance of the animal. Limbs lengthened and narrowed. The overall form grew. Soon the general shape of a horse stood where the woman had. The wind suddenly intensified where the limbs met the ground. Steadily, this tighter swirl rose, leaving behind the solid approximation of a horse's hooves, then legs, then body. Before long, a replica of the offered horse stood before the original.
"Impressive. It wasn't strictly necessary, though, was it? You could simply have ridden the original, couldn't you?" Desmeres asked.
The animal gave no answer. There was the possibility that she lacked the capacity to speak in this form. It was doubtful. Somehow, the smugly superior look that had so marked the face of the woman managed to persist in the horse. The effect was absurd, an animal that showed weariness bordering on frustration with those around it.
When a passable job of concealing the battleground had been managed, Lain, Myn, and the shapeshifter moved onward on foot. Myranda and Desmeres continued on horseback. Lain's seemingly inexhaustible stamina allowed for a pace near gallop for the horses. As they rode, Desmeres conversed with Myranda as best he could.
"They follow orders," he said
Myranda's expression communicated her confusion.
"The nearmen. That is what she did. She was in the form of one of the higher-ranking leaders. The woman she killed. The nearmen were following orders. That is why they killed themselves," he said.
"Would they really do that?" she asked.
"In my experience with them, I would say they wouldn't have a choice. It was different once. There was a time when they were just as you or I. Now, I doubt that they've a mind of their own. They live--or, more accurately, die--to serve," he answered.
Myranda was still attempting to come to terms with such a horror of existence when they reached the empty section of forest that apparently contained the hidden entrance to yet another of the many storerooms and safe houses that Desmeres and Lain kept. Lain reached down to a patch of ground rendered featureless by a blanket of frost and ice that would never fully thaw. Gripping what appeared to be an icy stone sunken into the ground, he pulled open a hidden door.
Myranda moved toward the opening.
"Just a moment," Desmeres said, wrestling his boot from his foot. He dropped the article into the hole. A rush of air and a quiet cluster of hisses emanated from the opening.
Slowly he lowered himself down. Lain sent the horses running off in the direction that they had been headed before entering. Vanishing into a swirl of wind again, the shapeshifter swept inside. Myn dove in after, and finally Myranda joined them.
A few weak flames flickered to life when the hatch was drawn cl
osed. The vault they found themselves in was barely the size of a large room. Even before the five occupants had entered, it was well crowded with bundles, chests, and sacks. There was scarcely room to stand. The shapeshifter settled back into her human form, arms crossed and the smug expression bearing a shade more frustration than before.
"Make yourselves as comfortable as you are able. Before we search these bags for something that is not yet too rotten to eat, there are a number of pressing matters that must be discussed," Desmeres announced.
"There most certainly are," Myranda agreed.
"Foremost, this is not a halfway house for wayward wanderers, and Lain and I are not caretakers. It is long past time that each of us went our separate ways," Desmeres stated.
"Lain is Chosen and I will not leave until he has joined with the others of his kind and turned to the task at hand," Myranda declared once again.
"Yes, that has been established, but--" Desmeres began. The voice of the woman cut him off.
"There are no others of our kind," she remarked.
"What? No. There are five!" Myranda objected.
"There had been, but the enemy has been most thorough. We two are all that remain who may call ourselves Chosen. It is thus of the utmost importance that we be delayed no further. Each moment the forces against us grow more powerful. Where once victory was assured, now it shall be a costly endeavor, if it is even an achievable one. We alone shall not be able to quell the storm we are certain to bring upon this world through our actions. The death throes of the war may well make its final days bloodier than the decades that preceded it," she said.
Her cold tone was maddening. If what she said was so, then, if victory was possible, it may well cost more lives than it would save. The possibility had haunted Myranda. There was already evidence that as the fiends who controlled the Alliance Army grew more concerned, their actions grew more drastic. Their soldiers permeated the north. With the nearmen to consider, there were likely two warriors for every civilian. If they were to seek the death of the Chosen at all costs, the devastation would be complete, even if the soldiers of the south did not sweep in to take the land they had been fighting for.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 61
